


Patchwork

by pjlover666, silberstreif



Series: Collaboration [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Collaboration, Family, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjlover666/pseuds/pjlover666, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silberstreif/pseuds/silberstreif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz is a hardened Autobot soldier who had seen and done the worst. But when a mission goes to the Pit and he is suddenly on the run with a sparkling, he might have to learn a full new set of abilities in Praxus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> Authors: pjlover666 and silberstreif  
> Title: Patchwork  
> Warnings: Torture (the bad kind) and character death. You are warned.  
> Disclaimer: TF doesn't belong to us. We just love to play with it a lot!  
> AN: We have tons of fics that just gather dust on our computers. It's about time we shared some of them with the world! Tell us what you think.

The mech slumped in his restrains, gasping much needed air through ruined vents. He glared blearily at his torturer, refusing to give them the satisfaction of his fear. His chest troubled painfully, his spark demanding his attention. But he didn't have time for that, not now. Not when faced with such danger.

"I can do this for as long as I like. No hurries." The Decepticon in front of him shrugged, "Do you think you'll be able to keep up?" And a cruel smile emerged on his face, tracing the electrical rod over his prisoners chest, "Think about your little one, Autobot. Do you really want it to know only agony?"

"Sick monster." The Autobot growled, wings trembling from rage, "The Pit has special a special place for beasts like you." He tried sending soothing thoughts to the sparklet curled around his spark in terrified horror. He could feel it growing weaker, pulsing slower. The little one stopped sending thoughts to him, and the only time he was able to communicate was when it was gripped in fear, like now.

' _Shhh, brightspark, my strong one. Endure just a little longer, please.'_ He mustered what little strength was left in him to wrap the growing spark in a protective cocoon, trying to shield it.

"So? It's not like I'll be joining it anytime soon." A crazy smile stretched on his face, "C'mon. It's simple, just tell me the codes needed to pass Praxus' reflector shields and I'll leave ya and yer lil'one in peace. Promise." The voice cooed.

The Praxian snarled from his chains, energon dripping on the floor, blue optics flaring dimly yet full with so much life in them, "Fragger. You twisted psychopath! What kind of mech would do this to a sparkling!"

The optics of the Decepticon narrowed and he closed the distance between them, leaning dangerously close to the carrier, "Me? Oh how wrong you are Autobot. What kind of a creator would let their young one suffer like this?" He jabbed the rod between a seem in the chest and positively thrilled by the piercing scream the Praxian let, his voice going into static.

The sparkling in his chest throbbed in pain, spinning and floating around frantically. It nearly engaged his delivery protocols from the sheer need to get away from the source of its agony but the Praxian was able to stop that in the last moment.

' _Forgive me, brave one. It's too early for you to go out. I know it hurts, I know.'_ He keened for his creation _, 'Please my little ray of hope, please hold on. Your sire will come for us.'_ A steal resolve backed up his statement and the little spark stopped trying to push out, but was far from the calm stage it should be.

"I'll give you nothing!" He rasped, voice filled with static but a fierce rage behind his optics, "Praxus will stand tall and see the end of the war!"

A shadow fell of the Decepticon's face, making him look like a creature from the nightmares, "Yet your creation wouldn't live to see it." And the rod cackled with electricity as more screams pierced the silence.

0000

He shuddered as his chest plates tried to open again. It was time for the little one to emerge, but it was too soon. Far too soon. He didn't even know the designation of his creation, the sparklet refusing to communicate with him from fear of pain. By now, in a normal carrying cycle, the sparkling should've been able to send emotions back and forth freely and expressing its character more freely. But the abused little light he guarded selfishly in his chest was anything but that. He could often feel the young one flowing distress around his spark, seeking protection and growing more and more quiet with each torture session. He feared so much for it. Would pain be the only thing his creation would know? Should he do it kindness and let the young one out of his misery? Unlock his chest?

But the strong faith he had in his mate overrode the commands to do so. He weakly focused inward, humming softly to his hurt creation.

' _My brave little soldier. I'm so sorry you're hurting like this. Please, not yet, wait just a little longer.'_ The weak sparkling snuggled more in his spark, seeking, drinking in the comfort it got from there.

He heard the door opening and tensed, fear surging through him as the sparkling positively keened in fright. He gasped as it pushed in his chest, wanting to get away.

He braced himself, using all of his power to shield the spark in his chest, the door opened all the way and blue optics flared in the dark. He felt his vents stall as he looked at the figure before him.

"A-asher?" He gasped, disbelieving, feeling dizzy from the emotions he was feeling.

The other Praxian on the door froze, optics flaring and wings fanning on his back as he took the sight of his mate.

"Darksky…" He whispered in horror and the next moment was rushing to his mate, resting their helms together as a worried sob escaped him, "I'm so sorry. I tried to get here sooner, I tried, I tried… oh Primus… what they did to you…" He gently pressed their lips together, "I love you, I'm sorry." He kept chanting over and over as he undid the binds, bringing his mate to the floor, resting him against the wall, his ruined doorwings behind him.

"Ash…" Darksky nearly melted into the kiss, content to die in his first moment of joy in this dark cell. But a tugging at his spark reminded him painfully what was about to happen, what needed to happen.

"Our sparkling—" He gasped as his chest plates trembled in effort to hold them closed, "Tell me you brought a shell with you!"

Asher froze for the second time, "The torture… I didn't dare to hope. Out sparklet… it's still pulsing?"

Darksky gasped again, "Not for long. Our creation wants out. _Now_." He groaned as the plates shook more violently. "A frame! Tell me you have one!"

Commotion from the door broke the intense moment as a black and white mech entered the room, weapons charged, "Boss, we gotta go, _now_! It's getting hot out there!"

Asher cursed, resting their helms together again, optics flaring brightly against the dim ones of his mate. Even if the bond was locked, he could feel the tugging in it, he could feel his mate slipping away. Asher held back a sob as the inevitable was fast approaching. He never believed his functioning would end like this. Because he would follow Darksky to the other side. There was no place for him here if his mate wasn't by his side. He opened the bond, letting his mate feel everything he was experiencing now, and the grim conclusion both of them knew.

"A frame, Asher." Darksky whispered, at the verge of passing out and entering stasis lock, "I don't want out creation to know only pain and darkness."

"Creation?" The mech behind them whirled around from his watch on the door, his young face bright in surprise. "Boss, did he just say…?"

"Jazz! Come over here, I need your help." Asher growled and eased his mate into a more comfortable position as the chest plates opened.

"Wait, you're bonded?" Jazz asked, disbelieving but obeying orders nonetheless and knelt down next to Darksky. "I knew you two had somethin' going on but…" He stared in awe as the spark chamber opened and two pulsing sparks lit the dark room. The smaller one was floating chaotically around the spark of his carrier, leaving blue streaks in its path. It was beautiful.

"Jazz," Asher started, and the young spy had never heard his Commander sound so grim, "There's a reason I brought you with me." He reached into his subspace and pulled out a small frame, "I've never seen so much talent in an Ops agent before. But most of all, I _trust_ you." And that, coming from the Ops Commander, was something else entirely.

For a world where trust didn't exist, the full weight of those words nearly crushed Jazz as dread slowly started to creep in.

"Boss…?" Jazz watched as Darksky cried out in pain as the little one separated from his spark, leaving those blue streaks behind. Asher gently cradled the frighteningly small spark close to his chest, a soft look on his face, full of love and adoration and sadness that Jazz had never seen nor believed his Commander capable of.

"Open the chest." The command was soft, as two creators watched captivated the little spinning sparkling. As a mech who obeyed orders flawlessly in no matter what situation, Jazz did as told, and opened the little one's chest plates manually, watching as Asher gently placed the spark into the empty spark chamber.

At first, there was nothing, but then the spark chamber suddenly closed with a snap, along with the chest plates as little systems whirled to life for the first time. Darksky cried out in relief, and Asher's wings drooped so low in worried exhaustion that they lay flat on his back. Jazz just stood there awkwardly, knowing he was intruding an intimate moment, but lost at what to do. That, and a sudden explosion rocking the room.

The tiny sparkling started crying.

"Commander." Jazz said uneasy, "We have to go."

Ignoring the spy, Asher placed the sparkling in Darksky's tired arms, his mate nuzzling the small thing, field radiating so many emotions.

"I never believed… Primus, I thought I would never get to hold him…"

"I had the same fear for you." Asher whispered, placing his hand over the sparkling's helm, relishing in the feeling of having his family close. He wished the moment could last forever, but it was over all too soon. He looked at the fidgeting spy next to them, looking at the entrance to the cell, expecting someone to enter any moment now.

"Jazz, I have a mission for you."

Jazz whirled to look at him, disbelieving, "Seriously? As if we're not in enough trouble as it is!" He stood up stiffly, his finger twitting over the trigger. "So what's the plan boss?"

"No." Asher said quietly, hand brushing his mate's cheek while the other was still resting over the sparkling's helm. Again, Jazz felt like intruding the intimate moment. He watched as Asher nodded, looking into Darksky's dim, but intense optics. "Jazz, this is Bluestreak."

"Okay…" Jazz trailed off, worriedly looking at the entrance again. They were wasting time.

"And he is your responsibility now and onwards."

All processing power came to a sudden halt, "Wait, what?!" He looked down at the sparkling, "But you—"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"No." Jazz shook his head, "C'mon Boss. We've escaped from worse situations than this. Remember Kaon? We can do it! And you and your mate can raise Blue, together."

Darksky smiled gently, nuzzling the sparkling, "He already gave him a nickname. I knew Bluestreak was a good name, with all the blue streaks his little spark was leaving." He sighed tiredly, "My only regret is that he won't grow up in Praxus."

"This is an order Jazz. It's your _mission_." Asher said, putting force behind his words, "I'm trusting you."

Jazz stiffened, "Ah can't take care of a sparklin'." His accent deepened.

"You can and you will. Not really a choice." Asher regarded Jazz, "Go to Praxus. Its neutrality should protect you and the sparkling. Stay there low for a couple of meta cycles and then contact HQ."

"Praxus is a neutral party. I doubt they'll welcome me with open arms—" Another explosion rocked the base as the walls to the room cracked. Darksky clutched Bluestreak closer as Asher growled.

"Then figure it out!"

"What about you?!" Jazz glanced at the door, hearing voices approaching. "Asher, you're more than a Commander, you're my mentor; a friend—"

"Which is why, I ask you as a friend to do me the greatest favor there is and protect him."

All protests died in Jazz as pain for the inevitable gripped his spark. Optics narrowed as he made a fist.

Asher sighed, locking sad optics with his mate, "Come, take him, because Primus, I don't have the strength to rip him out of Sky's arms." Said mech made a distressed sound, holding the sparkling closer, murmuring sweet nothings into the little one's audios.

Jazz felt his spark break at the scene, "I…" He shook his head and frowned.

Sub spacing his gun, Jazz bent over and gently lifted the tiny bundle of wires from his creators, trying and failing to ignore the choked sob that escaped Darksky. He looked into the dim tired optics of the sparkling as it suddenly yawned quietly and drifted into recharge, the crying having tired him out. The spy looked at the embraced couple, feeling uneasy, bringing the sparkling close to his spark by instinct, trying to shield it from the dangers of this place.

"Go." Darksky ordered, leaning over his mate, optics locked on the peaceful form of his creation, for the first time in orns free of pain. "Go, now."

Jazz took an unsure step back, watching the creators. "Commander…" He looked at the big mech, huge wing panels fanned behind him.

"It's alright. Go."

Jazz nodded tersely, as he took another slow step back, one hand holding the tiny sparkling, so small in fit his hand perfectly, while with the other one he gripped his weapon. It took all of his strength to turn and walk out of the room without looking back.

0000

It was such a beautiful sunset. The last rays of the sun were casting upon the large crystals in the valley, leaving long and heavy shadows in their wake. The place was silent and the echo of the winds were hard to miss. But their cool caresses were a welcomed touch to Jazz's roughed up plating.

Littered with minor (and not so minor) wounds, Jazz heavily leaned on a crystal, hidden in its shadow as he sank down to the ground. For how long had he been driving? It was irrelevant as the only times he stopped to rest were for him to feed the little one.

On the ground, Jazz flexed his left leg and pain shot through him. His hands shop up to the knee joint, holding the damaged plating. Stupid 'cons. They kept appearing right out of nowhere.

"Persistent fraggers…" He muttered and once the pain subsided he allowed himself to stretch, feeling stiff. His chest plates unlocked and he reached inside with a clawed hand, bringing out a drowsy looking sparkling.

"Hey there little buddy." Jazz smiled cheerfully at the little thing, trying to radiate as much as calm and secure as he could, "That last chase was a dozy, wasn't it?" The little sparkling just blinked again before curious optics started looking around the unfamiliar place.

The sparkling was tiny, as all Praxian sparklings were due to the disproportion between frame and doorwings. Jazz amused himself and the sparkling by tickling the little appendages, earning himself a warble.

"Some orn, I'm gonna hear ya laugh lil' one." Jazz murmured. It worried him a little that the sparkling barely made any sounds at all. The last time he heard him cry was right after the explosion of the Decepticon base.

Asher went out with honor, Jazz thought pained, and Bluestreak here probably felt what little was left of his creators bond snap shut. Ever since then, the kid barely made any sounds.

Jazz kept on playing with the sparkling, tickling its nose and letting him play with his large fingers. Like every other model, he had a special compartment for sparklings in his chest (that he used to place secret weapons inside) but knew that letting the kid stay too cooped up in there wasn't ideal.

"Someone's hungry, hmm?" Jazz cooed when Bluestreak caught his finger and started sucking on it. "I know, I'm hungry too." He sighed and checked his depleting energy readings. He had run out of fuel orn ago, and the self-repair and constant chase had him burning faster than it should be normal.

"When we get to Praxus, I'm gonna get ya some real energon bitlet, not this slag yer forced to have." Jazz talked, opening his wrist compartment, wincing as he ripped anew the healing cut he made the previous orn for Bluestreak to fuel. It was far from ideal, nearly barbaric, but the sparkling's fuel tanks couldn't handle anything stronger, so the deluded energon in Jazz's fuel lines would have to do the trick.

"Ah know it sucks, lil' Blue, but ya gotta fuel." Jazz coaxed when the not-so-pleasant taste of his fuel had the sparkling tilting his head away, "C'mon, I promised yer creators to watch out for ya, what would they say if I starved ya to death?"

Jazz grinned as the hungry sparkling finally caved in and started drinking. He kept on talking, "Let me tell ya, yer carrier is one scary mech. You saw him in an emotional state, so it's hard to tell, but Primus did he dish out punishments like none other. And yer sire…"

Jazz trailed off thinking, the sparkling watching him curiously as it spit out the fuel line, done for now with fueling, "Hmm, well, yer sire was just as uptight as yer carrier, if not more so, but he had his moments of insanity. I gotta tell you about our time in Kaon…" He looked at the tired Bluestreak, fighting off recharge and loosing badly.

"Maybe 'nother time?" He whispered and brushed Blue's cheek.

Once the sparkling was deeply in recharge Jazz let his head fall back, optics going offline.

"Can't believe yer really gone ya glitch." He murmured and thought about his mentor. He was so certain that if one mech would live to see the end of the war, it would be Asher – mech was far too smart for his own good. Jazz looked at the horizon before him and opened his chest plates again, placing the small form inside it. He lifted a gun and made sure it was charged before getting up to his pedes.

"Praxus, here we come."


	2. A chance meeting

Prowl shifted in his alt form, hovering slightly above the ground, watching the passing mechs on the high way. Of course, they all were slowing down their speed the moment they spotted him and resumed their pace once they were good out of range from his radar.

Prowl let them be, so long as they weren't exceeding the speed limit, they were within rights. He loved his city and would let no one, tourist or not, endanger it. Prowl treasured Praxus and was damn proud of it, most of all – its decision to stay out of the ongoing war that seems to infect more and more parts of Cybertron. And the Enforcer would make sure it stayed like that.

He was Chief Enforcer and it baffled most mechs why he still did patrols, but unknown to them, Prowl enjoyed his time on the high way. It was peaceful– he got to watch the passing mechs, see the different and interesting alt modes. And of course, when it was needed there was always the sweet thrill of the chase.

A sleek vehicle came up to his checkpoint and nothing indicated that it was slowing down in any way. If he had been in root mode, Prowl would have frowned. Instead he checked the numbers to make sure what he already suspected - this mech was too fast. Far too fast, with nearly a quartex over the limit!

Prowl's engine gave a satisfied purr as he slid out of his alcove. Finally, he could relish in the second reason he still did his duty - the hunt. Nothing relaxed him more than a good chase around the block.

Not that he would've ever admitted that this was in any way part of the reason why he did highway duty.

The moment he touched the highway ground, he turned on his sirens and accelerated, leaving most of the commoners in the dust. Weaving through the traffic with skill, he had soon caught up to the miscreant.

Who didn't slow down. Prowl made his sirens even louder and pinged him on the open enforcer commline. No reaction, but a traffic truck forced them both to slow down.

Interesting. The mech's brake lights weren't working. Another offense. If this were his first ones, maybe he still could let it slide with tickets and a fine, if not, well, Prowl would gladly escort him to the Enforcer station. Rules were there for a reason.

But first he had to get this mech off the street.

Now nearly bumper on bumper, he pushed against the mech as a warning and call to leave the road immediately.

Problem. The mech didn't slow down, he _sped up_.

A trouble maker, then. Prowl revved his engine in excitement and sent a short message to the station that he was in pursuit. He would catch this one. No one had escaped him before.

Not in _his_ city.

0000

Jazz mentally cursed.

Just when he was starting to relax and let himself hope that luck was finally on their side, now this happens! Annoying Enforcer.

He sped up, passing mechs and femmes with practiced ease. Only, the Enforcer seemed to be just as skilled. Jazz left the highway, deciding to lose his stubborn tail in some of the unknown streets.

Turn left. Right. Left. Left. Right again and another left.

"Aw, c'mon!" Jazz growled, his patience wearing thin. He was highly under-fueled, something was leaking from him, he had no idea where he was going and that annoying mech would just Not. Leave. Him. _ALONE_.

Frustrated, Jazz sped up even more. He had a sparkling to look after now, no time for silly games!

"Stop at once!" The sirens of the Enforcer flared.

Jazz felt shifting in his chest. Great, he would wake up Blue at this rate! He needed to lose this cop. Now.

Making up his mind, Jazz maxed out his engine and did a sharp right turn, entering a small allay. He nearly whooped in joy when he lost his tail, but his moment was short lived as he saw the very vast, very _real_ , wall right up in front of him. He hit his brakes, but that did little to slow down his slide and he crashed rather spectacularly.

"Owww…"

Jazz transformed wincing, clutching his head and the new dent on it, a distant sound of hovers approaching and then another transformation.

"That was most unwise." A deep voice made Jazz's optics snap open and he looked up at the tall enforcer in front of him, huge sensor panels spread behind him. "You could have seriously injured yourself like that."

Injured…? Jazz's scrambled processor nearly glitched as he made a strangled yelp with his vocalizer, hurriedly opening his chest plates.

"What—?" said the Enforcer confused and slightly shocked. After all, the spark was one of the most intimate parts of a Cybertronian, and the mech was nearly baring his to the world.

"Blue!" Jazz carefully pulled out the sleepy sparkling, that didn't seem too happy to be woken up so rudely. "You okay sparklet?!" With gentle hands Jazz shifted the tiny sparkling in his hands much like a rag doll, searching for injuries.

He turned the confused (and still sleepy) sparkling at least three times, before he held him in front of his face, gazing at baby-blue optics in worry.

"I'm so sorry lil' one! Yer sire would kill me if he saw what just happened!"

Bluestreak blinked.

"But yer okay." And Jazz nearly sagged in relief.

The sparkling blinked again.

A rumble of a powerful engine reminded Jazz of his current company, "Excuse me?" The Enforcer did not look pleased. Not one bit.

Wings flared behind him, he had taken a very protective stand - ready to snatch the sparkling at any moment. "Sir, I think you have quite a bit of explaining to do," said the Enforcer coldly. Gone was the hidden warmth that had stemmed from amusement before.

"What the frag was that?!" Jazz suddenly growled from the ground, trying to keep his field neutral, "What kind of a nut-job Enforcer are ya?"

The other mech sputtered. "Pardon?! You were the one racing through the streets at insane speeds with your sparkling in your chest! He doesn't even look a vorn old yet, you could've seriously harmed him!"

"No, I wouldn't have!" Jazz argued back, "I wouldn't have needed to speed in the first place if you hadn't started chasing me!"

"You were already speeding before and your break lights aren't working. Both are more than enough for me to stop you." The Enforcer's wings raised high up in agitation. "Don't blame this on me." He looked at the sparkling and marginally relaxed as Bluestreak didn't seem to be distressed at all.

Jazz on the other hand nearly glitched. "That?! You followed me because of broken brake lights?!"

The obviously forgotten sparkling kept looking between the two mechs until its gaze settled on the Enforcer, or more precisely, his door-wings. They were large and nice doorwings, with a round edge. Also they fluttered a bit every single time the Enforcer moved. Step. Flutter. Hand-movement. Flutter.

"Among other things. And might I point out that you wouldn't have crashed if you just stopped." The Praxian explained patiently, as if speaking to a youngling.

"Why you—" Jazz growled, for a moment seriously contemplating the consequences of offlining an officer. His ire died however, as he looked down at Blue whose hand was outstretched towards the Enforcer, trying to grab... something.

Jazz stared confused at the tiny sparkling, who for the first time was interested in something beyond energon. The Enforcer though shifted a bit, still waiting for an answer and twitching his wings. Baby blue optics followed the movement.

"Do that again," ordered Jazz.

The Enforcer stared as if he had just lost his mind. "My wings? Why?"

"Damn it, would you just _Do. It._ "

The Enforcer seemed for a moment to consider it, then his wings twitched again and those young optics brightened while a second hand joined the first, both eager to touch the appendages. It was an incredibly cute moment, not to mention this is the most responsive the sparkling had been since that base exploded. Jazz spark broke in his chest at what could have been. Bluestreak was Praxian, in code and spark. He needed his creators. His _real_ creators. And apparently, he also needed wings on frames. Jazz was even worse equipped to take care of Blue, than he had first imagined.

Horrid images rouse in Jazz's mind and he shook his head, forcing them away.

The Enforcer in the meanwhile had taken a careful look at the little one. "That sparkling doesn't belong to you."

The deduction made Jazz scowl and his under fueled and not clearly thinking processor said: "So?"

Later, Jazz would realize that this wasn't the best course of action to take. Ever.

A deep frown, together with a hand wandering closer to its weapon. "So you admit that the sparkling doesn't belong to you?"

"Frag off mech." Jazz hugged Blue closer to his chest, still sitting on the ground. He felt far too exhausted to try and stand. The little hands drooped but curious optics still followed the wings. Was it really all coming down to this? Blue and defiance? "You know nothin'."

The Enforcer eyed Jazz up and down, no doubt noting his dents, cuts and overall state which didn't seem all that convincing. At best, Jazz looked like someone had used him as a punching bag and wiped the floor with him. At worst, he looked like someone who had beaten down two creators and stolen their sparkling.

"I know that you did not deliver that sparkling. If I check the logs, would I find news about missing sparklings?" It was a tense question that demanded the truth.

Jazz snorted, shaking his head. The Enforcer took a step forward and before he could take his second step, the spy already had a gun aimed at him. "I wouldn't, if I were ya," he warned, pleased how the Enforcer froze, optics for a moment wide in surprise.

With one hand still aiming the weapon at the Praxian, he opened his chest plates and promptly tucked the sparkling back in, closing them with a quick click. Better be safe than sorry.

The Enforcer stepped back, deliberately relaxing. Had he activated hostage situation protocols? Probably. "I doubt that he enjoys his time in there."

"As if you would know," Jazz shot back and tried to stand up, only to crumble on his two pedes. The sudden disorientation was opening enough for the Praxian and he lunged, pushing Jazz on his back, pinning the smaller mech, aiming a gun at his head while with his other hand he pressed on the closed chest plates. "Open up."

"Sorry." Jazz bended, "But we just met. I would rather not." The Enforcer flinched at the innuendo. And in a swift move the saboteur used the cop's weigh to throw him off balance and to get the upper hand. He was Ops for a reason.

But the mech was bigger, by no means a novice to fighting and had refueled for the last couple of orns. Unlike Jazz.

The cop, much to Jazz's everlasting annoyance, did not give up, and the two ended up on the dirty ground, rolling around, trying to pin each other. It fast became apparent that the enforcer didn't dare to strike or roll Jazz roughly due to Blue in his chest. Jazz grinned as he punched a sensitive wire in one of the wing panels, making the Praxian choke down a scream and getting the needed leverage to pin the big mech.

He sat on the cop's chest, pedes pressing hard on both hands of the mech under him, keeping him immobile. Jazz positively grinned, "Now that that's taken care of, I need all of yer credits mech. Gotta buy the lil one's some energon."

The enforcer's optics became, if possible, even colder as even the last respect for Jazz went down burning. With former hidden brutality, the Praxian freed one of his hands with a violent hip move and _ripped_ wires from Jazz's knee joint. Unfortunately, it was the already damaged one and Jazz yelled in pain as agony blazed through his too-long abused systems.

It _hurt_.

It nearly forced him into a rapid reboot. Taking the moment, the Enforcer quickly shifted their positions, pinning Jazz down again in a police hold, which was nearly impossible to leave.

"Wait! Wait!" Jazz suddenly wheezed, desperately trying to even out his field that was laced with lingering pain. "STOP YA GLITCH!"

The Praxian froze instantly as his wings detected a faint field spike, which was far different from the anger and determination in his opponent. He looked down at Jazz's chest, as the spike repeated. Panic. Sharp, blinding panic, beyond what any mech should ever feel. His own wings trembled in sympathy, even if he moved nothing else.

"GET OFF!" Jazz used what little strength he had left, but it was not enough to push the mech off. Luckily, the cop complied and despite his dizziness Jazz hastily scrambled to sit up right, opening his chest and bringing out the tiny, now banged up, form of the curled up, trembling sparkling.

"Oh Blue…" Jazz gently, as if touching the most fragile thing on Cybertron, hugged the sparkling, bringing it close to his chest and rumbling his engine soothingly. "I'm so sorry bitlet. Bravespark, I didn't mean my field to reach out like that…" He trailed off, rocking slightly, trying to sooth the distressed sparkling, forcing his field to calm, banishing completely his pain and leaving only feelings of comfort and safety.

"His designation is Blue?" The quiet murmur from behind reminded Jazz that they weren't alone. He was pleased to note that the copper's field had spread ever so lightly and it was helping to calm Bluestreak to a reasonable level. And Jazz as well, not that he would admit it. But the Enforcer's field radiated peace of the deepness of the rust sea. The sparkling just curled up more tightly around Jazz, burying his head in the breast plate. Jazz wished he would sob, or cry, or anything, besides trembling in spark-wrenching fear, caught in a nightmare were no help or mercy could reach him. He rubbed the sparklings back, hoping to make him realize that this was now and different. It helped. Slowly.

"This here is Bluestreak," Jazz explained quietly, "He's a couple of orns old."

Luckily, the Enforcer was silent and waited for an explanation, not daring to move and upset the sparkling. It wasn't as if Jazz had any chance to escape with the sparkling in the condition he was in.

Fight had failed. Flight had failed. Seemed like it was time for a few explanations and hope for the best.

"His carrier got captured by the 'cons while he was still carrying Blue. They tortured him. They didn't stop torturing him. Blue here felt everything, no matter how hard his carrier tried to prevent that."

The silence that followed was deafening. The sparkling had calmed down enough to let his tired systems lead him into recharge. His systems weren't made for that kind of stress.

"You are an Autobot." The way the Enforcer said it, it sounded like a verdict. Or a crime. His optics lingered on the remains of Jazz insignia. By now, the paint was chipped, the red nearly entirely gone.

Jazz nodded, "Part of Ops." Part of a secretive, murdering part of an already despised army. But hey, he probably couldn't sink himself any lower anyway. He looked at the Praxian. "What's yer name? Unless ya prefer if I called ya copper all the time."

"Chief Enforcer Prowl." There was no hint of pride in his title, even though he was far higher up than Jazz had suspected. Just his luck to meet the only Chief Enforcer monitoring a checkpoint. "And how do I call you? Or would you like me to use the word felon instead?"

The dry humor was cutting. But it also was reminiscent of the earlier amusement at his crash into the wall.

"Cute. But ya can call me Jazz."

Jazz offlined his visor for a moment, feeling more than tired. He wasn't having the best of orns lately.

"It's dangerous you being here," Chief Enforcer Prowl said, frowning. The mech seemed to do that a lot.

Jazz snorted, "Pfft, as if ya helped matters."

"You misunderstood." Prowl shook his head. "Praxus is a neutral city. You being here endangers that."

The spy turned cold optics at the Enforcers and asked slowly, "So what're ya gonna do about that copper?" He was in no state to fight him off. The best he could to was to plead for mercy. Which he hated to do, but had done before. If not for them both then at least for the sparkling.

The Enforcer's gaze flickered to Bluestreak.

"First, you tell me what you want here, far from any Autobot base, damaged and with a sparkling."


	3. Hard Decisions

In the end, they made a deal.

Prowl would take them someplace safe, that wasn't the Enforcer's Station nor the Hospital – the risk of drawing political attention, especially with a sparkling, was too great. Prowl would never risk Praxus' neutrality in the war. But he would also not condemn a sparkling to death.

In return, Jazz would answer all of Prowl's questions how he came here and what happened with Bluestreak's creators.

That led to the very slow ride to Prowl's home as the Enforcer towed Jazz, who had the sparkling safely tucked inside his chest. Prowl turned out to be obsessed about traffic rules, as long as he wasn't chasing a speeder. Worse, because he was towing a mech (and a sparkling), he insisted on a 'safe' pace, which was around half of the allowed one. Jazz had the feeling that he was staring at the same points on the side of the road for an eternity, until they finally passed it - and the next boring point appeared. Shop after shop, crossroad after crossroad.

His only source of entertainment was the very mech that towed him and as a result Jazz didn't stop chatting about this and that – trying, but failing to have a nice small talk. To say, that it was frustrating would've been a vast understatement. Jazz wanted to scream and leave the stick-aft-Enforcer in the dust of his rear end... but he couldn't. Not only was he low on fuel, but Bluestreak was in dire need of shelter, fuel and well, everything. And Chief-Enforcer Prowl was the only mech anywhere near that was willing to provide and help. He needed him. Badly.

And worse, despite his previous bravado, Jazz had nothing to ensure that Prowl needed him, too. He was just a danger to Praxus and little Blue at best an innocent victim. If the Enforcer forgot his nice side, or changed his opinion even a bit, Jazz was slagged and would probably wake up in a spacious Praxian prison cell.

Or not at all. Praxus was neutral, but not nice nor stupid.

So, Jazz did what he did best, he tried to be charming and friendly, so that the mech would help him in the future. But no matter what he said, he only got short, one-word answers back. As time passed, Jazz stopped talking, afraid to alienate the Enforcer further, but even heavier weighed that his words came out slurred. He was finally reaching his limit. It was absurd, but Jazz had to think about what would have happened if he hadn't speeded... where would he be now? Certainly not with that morally up-tight Enforcer. Realistically, probably in an alley. Alone. With a crying Bluestreak in his arms.

Well, even if this would go wrong and a cell was all his future held, Jazz doubted that Prowl would let anything happen to Blue.

That was at least something... which was his last conscious thought.

Prowl only realized that something had happened, when the weight at his rear suddenly became even heavier.

::Jazz?:: he commed. ::Answer!::

There was only silence. No witty comment, not even a rev of an engine. Nothing. Concern shot through Prowl. While Jazz was probably alive (he couldn't be really sure, with all those dents and sooth Jazz could've been hiding something far worse) and just shutting down, it was still a bad development. Especially as Jazz might even be initiating stasis. No wonder, the mech hadn't exactly looked as if he had time to refuel or rest the last deca-orns. But to be in this condition, while with a sparkling was deplorable.

Prowl accelerated, intent to make it home before the Autobot entered stasis fully. Then, he would have to call a medic. And explain what an Autobot did in his apartment. Not exactly Prowl's version of a good orn.

He carried the light mech into the apartment tower and on the 34th floor where his home was. It was rather small and very simple, but with big windows. The view over his city was something that he enjoyed in his scarce free time.

Prowl sat Jazz on the couch, who seemed to be blearily aware of his surroundings. At least enough to instantly follow movement with his optics, if nothing more. No stasis yet. At least something. But the mech was too sluggish for Prowl's comfort. It was a clear sign of approaching stasis. He hurried to the small private energon dispenser and took out two cubes with the highest concentration of high-grade his dispenser could prodcue. Which still wasn't very high. Prowl didn't like the loss of control that came with being overcharged at all and had looked out more for quality of the filtering system when buying the dispenser than anything else.

Prowl walked back to his guest and put one of the cubes at the Autobot's lips. "Here," he said and hoped dearly that Jazz would react. He had no desire to force feed him. That was always too messy.

Jazz blinked in wonder as Prowl suddenly reappeared with a cube of energon. It smelled so good...

As the cube registered to Jazz, he as quickly as he could snatched it up and started drinking in big gulps, the fuel greedily getting absorbed by starved systems and half-full lines. Life slowly started to return to his optics, turning them from a dark, dim blue into a softer light blue with nuances. Prowl wordlessly handed him the second cube, which his guest drank more slowly this time.

"Primus, Prowler!" Jazz placed the now empty cubes on the table, licking his lips in clear enjoyment. "Haven't had high quality fueling since… ever!" He laughed at some personal joke and grinned at his host, who frowned, obviously uncomfortable with the comment.

Prowl didn't know if he should be embarrassed at Jazz's behavior, or simply pity the soldier for the horrible life he had led. Deciding that it didn't matter and really wasn't his business to care about, he commented on the other thing that he didn't like in Jazz's comment:

"Don't call me that," Prowl said annoyed. "My designation is Prowl, or if you like to be formal Chief-Enforcer Prowl. A 'Prowler' has in no shape or form anything to do with me."

Jazz stuck out his glossa: "Sure thing."

The Enforcer had the bad feeling, that his objection to the nickname (surely it was that, or was it an insult?) would be ignored. With an inaudible sigh, he turned and fetched a huge pillow from his own berth room. It was soft and purple, one of the most colorful things he had (a direct result of a creation-orn party and creators that insisted that he needed color) and hopefully suitable for the sparkling.

The Autobot eyed the big thing sceptically. "What's with the over-sized pillow? You doin' yoga or somethin'?"

The Praxian huffed. Tourists. He pointed at his wings, raising his brow ridges at the stupid question. Jazz grinned in embarrassment.

"Get the sparkling out," commanded Prowl, not in the mood for any more unimportant interactions. "It's not good to keep sparklings from outside stimulus for long."

He put the pillow on the ground, making sure that even if Bluestreak rolled off it, he wouldn't fall far down. He didn't have a berth or even better a cradle for the kid, but this was so much better than the sparkling staying in his not-so-quite stable guardian. Which Praxian had been insane enough to entrust his sparkling with this mech anyway? He was a speeding, rule-disobeying daredevil. And this was the _nice_ description.

"He's fine." Jazz waved him off. "Sleeping so deep he won't feel a bomb falling."

Probably not the best reference as Prowl's wings rouse again, a deep frown growing on his features. The Praxian couldn't help but wonder if the comment had been proven in a situation before. Jazz's damaged frame certainly could've been near a bomb. Or several.

"Okay, okay. Sheesh," said Jazz, not missing the suspicious of his host.

Moments later, a little sparkling was swallowed by the enormous soft pillow. Bluestreak had immediately curled into a ball, his helmet nearly touching his knee-plates, before recharging peacefully on. Only his still soft and fragile right doorwing was visible from the side, still so thin that it Prowl's chevron was massive in comparison. Jazz smiled down at him, brushing his helm with such affection that it nearly melted the Enforcer's worries that Jazz was bad for the sparkling. Well, it nearly did – doing that with razor sharp claws near the doorwings wasn't something the Praxian liked. Not at all.

Jazz was probably just a fool.

Said fool was now looking up from where he was kneeling. "You wouldn't happen to have sparkling fuel, would you?"

What did he take Prowl for? An orncare service? "No."

"Figures," Jazz muttered. "Well, we can always cook it. The mid grade has to boil until it starts loosing color, right?"

"Yes. One hundred and twenty breems to be more precise," Prowl corrected automatically and went to do just that. During the preparation phase Jazz kept petting the little mech, lost in thoughts of what was and what could have been. He looked up as the Enforcer returned and placed a box next to the pillow.

"You're leaking," Prowl stated and, as if that explained everything, opened the box to reveal it was a fully stocked med kit.

Jazz looked down at the floor, indeed seeing a small puddle of energon and oils under his ruined leg. "Oh." He grinned stupidly, when he noticed that he had also made a mess with his dirty pedes on his way in. This place was clinically sterile and spotless to the point it worried Jazz a little. He suddenly felt like a stain in the room. "Opps. Well, don't go and tear a mech's wires out next time."

"Insolent…" Prowl narrowed his optics. "Then don't pinch a Praxian's wings. Correction – do not touch them. Ever."

Jazz made a snickering sound as his gaze returned to the sparkling. He couldn't keep his optics off the little mech, that flinched every then and when from nightmares and worse, but never made a sound.

Prowl's optics swept over the Autobot's frame, noting the most pressing injuries. Basic triage protocols had sprang up long before and demanded that he made sure that the mech he was about to question didn't enter stasis lock. Now that the most pressing danger had been avoided, he could concentrate on the less dangerous injuries like leaking cables, or those holes in the armor. Coupled with the sooth it was clear that they were the results of laser guns. If he hadn't already known, he would've definitely said that this mech came fresh from a war zone.

After a wing twitch, Bluestreak snuggled deeper into the pillow. Jazz's regular touches helped to keep the trembles at a minimum.

Poor sparkling. To be born into war zone was a cruel fate. There was nothing there a sparkling needed. No safety, no toys, and certainly no sparkling grade. So how had the little one survived? And where were the creators?

He was about to question Jazz that, and get his answers, only to see the mech's optics go completely dark as his frame slumped next to the couch on the ground, where the pillow with the sparkling had been placed. After a sharp moment of panic, Prowl checked to be sure that it was only medical recharge and was relieved after receiving confirmation. He should have expected this, fuel wasn't the only things mechs needed. Recharge and a thoroughly defragging of the processor was regularly necessary as well.

He tried to imagine what the mech had been through these last few orns, what he and the sparkling had survived, yet he simply failed. With a sigh, he realized that the apartment had grown quiet all of a sudden and that suddenly he had nothing more to do anymore. Prowl looked between the two sleeping, exhausted forms and asked himself not for the first time that orn, just what had he exactly gotten himself into?

Then, Prowl stood up and decided to finish the report for his shift, explaining everything about a mysterious speeder that somehow, miraculously had managed to escape. Such reports were common that no one would question it. Especially not when it was filed by him personally. Still, it would mean lying. He would fail to report truthfully as was the duty of every Enforcer.

Prowl looked back towards his guests, gaze lingering on them and wondered if they really were it worth it all.


	4. The things that make us hurt

The booting process was initiated smoothly. He smiled, feeling better than he had in orns, enjoying the softness of the surface he was resting on and the sense of not being hungry. Jazz snuggled deeper into the covers and stretched, but then his left leg protested painfully.

And that was when the rest of his processor completely booted up.

Jazz sat up so abruptly that he nearly threw up from a wave of dizziness. Memories played in his head as he looked around the empty room frantically.

Running. Going to Praxus. The chase. Prowl. Getting Bluestreak to safety—

"BLUE!" Jazz yelled and jumped from the berth, ignoring the violent protests of his body. He was in a plain recharging room that he had never seen before. The only special things were the pillows laying around, but none was as colorful as the one the Enforcer had given Bluestreak.

Worried, trying to beat down an irrational fear born through a lifetime of danger, Jazz limped into the living room searching for the sparkling and the Enforcer. Instead of finding relief, he could only stare at the pillow at the floor.

The huge. EMPTY. Pillow.

Jazz felt himself going into a meltdown. Battle protocols sprang into life, while he lifted the huge thing and sniffed it – the scent was fresh, probably a joor old. In sheer disbelief he searched the ground. Maybe the sparkling rolled off in its sleep? But there was nothing. He started to shake as helplessness was turned into aggression and he didn't even notice as claws ripped into the pillow, the plush flowing everywhere in the room.

"Prowl! You fragger! Where the Pit is he?!" Jazz yelled and started looking around the room, pushing furniture and generally making a mess in the room. His battle protocols hummed the song of war and destruction, making Jazz barely able to stop himself from activating his in-built weapons.

How could he have been so STUPID?! Trusting an Enforcer. Idiot!

Jazz ran towards the door. Or, at least he tried to. But the agitation and senseless destruction he had wrought demanded their price, when he stepped fully on his leg. It had barely held up until now, but the jump caused something to snap and he crumbled to the ground.

"I'm going to _Kill. Him_ ," Jazz growled as he saw that someone had tampered with the joint, many of its parts missing. He gritted his denta. Immobilization, always much more effective than mere cuffs. He wouldn't have thought that a lawful Enforcer of a peaceful city would resort to such tactics. Just as he was contemplating on blowing the whole damn sky-scraper into oblivion, his sensitive hearing detected the door unlocking.

Prowl entered his home, one hand balancing the sleeping Bluestreak, while within the other he carried a bag. The Chief-Enforcer stopped dead in his tracks upon crossing his threshold and tried not to crash at the scene before him.

Jazz, the fool, sitting on the ground in the middle of his wrecked living room, small pieces of plush floating around him. In the far corner laid his ruined purple pillow.

"What. Happened?!" hissed Prowl quietly, struggling to keep his field calm, mindful of the recharging sparkling. He entered fully, the door closing behind him with a quiet _snick_.

"Blue!" Ignoring his question completely, Jazz scampered to his feet and limped his way to them.

"What the Pit was that?!" The spy snapped once he was sure that it was really Bluestreak, his sparkling, who was safely recharging in the Praxian's hands.

"What was what?" Prowl asked, angry over the fact of his ruined home. Look at this mess! "What happened here?" It looked like someone had a brawl.

"You tell me!" Jazz had left angry far behind and went straight to furious, borderline livid. "I wake up alone, with no sparkling or Chief-Enforcer in sight! Where the frag were you?! I thought that… Primus, I…" Jazz shook his head, unable to describe what he had thought. Death was far from the worst. "Don't ever leave with him without _my_ permission again!"

Permission?! Prowl frowned, not at all happy and walked past Jazz to his small kitchen. It looked like only the living room had suffered Jazz's mild hysteria. If he was lucky and could repair most things, maybe the damage would be less than a thousand credits. Maybe. Hadn't he wanted to have a new living room anyway? Or at least everyone else had always said he needed a new one.

"You," Prowl started slowly, forcing himself to accept the damage as something not so bad, "Were in medical recharge, with no sign of waking up anytime soon. I needed to get more energon for Bluestreak _, real_ energon, not some home cooked brew. And you needed the rest."

"So why did you take him with you?!" Jazz accused sharply and limped his way to chair, dangerous claws still flexing as his battle programs only slowly deactivated. Hawk-eyed, he watched as Prowl pulled out energon cubes from the bag, easily recognizing the sparkling fuel with its pale pink glow.

This mech knew nothing about child care, Prowl thought peeved. No education, no emotional control, but with a sparkling and now Prowl's responsibility. Great. "Are you honestly asking me why I refused to let the sparkling here, alone, without supervision?" he bit. "Are you really that dense?"

Jazz glared, finally having enough. Without the battle protocols feeding his aggression he started to feel a bit embarrassed, but would never tell his host this. "Give him to me." He ordered.

Prowl seemed to hesitate for a moment but then complied and gently handed the sleeping sparkling over. He watched ready to intervene as Jazz started to inspect the now slowly waking up sparkling thoroughly.

Helmet: there. Check.

Little quivering wings: undamaged. Check.

Servos, pedes? Looking good. Check.

Bluestreak as a whole? Healthy, though a bit grumpy thanks to being woken up.

Jazz's angry features softened and the mech thrilled softly at his charge, brushing his helm and holding him close to his spark.

The spy, now thinking clearly again, didn't want to look in Prowl's optics. Thank Primus the Enforcer seemed more grumpy than truly worried about a mech with battle protocols wrecking his living room. Maybe he hadn't quite realized that Jazz had nearly lost control here. Or maybe he had just never seen a mech with active battle protocols before and couldn't recognize it. Whatever the case, the Praxian had done the right thing - explanation, no aggression and compliance with handing Bluestreak over. Lucky.

Primus. Jazz was not only unsuited as a guardian, but an active danger. And yet... he couldn't even consider to give up Bluestreak anymore. He had _promised_.

After a long silence, in which Prowl kept sorting the fuel he had bought ('Neat-freak', Jazz thought), the spy had calmed down enough to speak civilly again.

"Did you fuel him?"

"Yes," Prowl answered in a tone as if he had just asked if Seekers had wings. "Last night and this morning, right after I got the low grade."

"Thanks," Jazz said grudgingly.

"I didn't do it for you."

"Of course not." Jazz rolled his optics behind the Praxian's back. A moment later Prowl turned around and handed him a different, not small at all cube, with such dark energon that it was nearly red. And the smell was best described as acidic. Even Bluestreak wrinkled his little nose.

"It's medical grade," Prowl answered his uncertain look. "You need the minerals."

"Uhg, thanks… I guess." Damn that mech, how could Jazz stay mad when he went and did this for Blue and him? He watched as Prowl looked at his living room, crossed his arms and glared at the mess.

'Definitely a neat-freak,' Jazz concluded, cuddling Bluestreak. "Uhh, sorry about the mess, mech. I kinda panicked."

"So you decided to trash my apartment," was the dry answer.

Jazz watched (slightly amused, he admitted) as the Praxian started cleaning the room with such efficiency as if he was expecting the Prime to drop off and expect his apartment. Everything salvageable came at its prober place, while the rest came into a heap next to the door. In the mean time, Jazz nuzzled Bluestreak one more time and pulled the cube Prowl left for him to his lips, taking a hesitant sip. It wasn't as bad as the terrible smell had suggested. Actually, it was just very bitter in his mouth. He made a face and considered asking for a normal one.

As if sensing his thoughts, Prowl ordered without looking back, "Drink the whole cube, Jazz."

The spy rolled his optics again, but noted that his systems hummed pleasantly and his energy levels started rising fast.

"With what did you feed him all this time?" asked Prowl with only a hint of the curiosity he was feeling in his voice. He kept on cleaning. Surely the mech wasn't reckless enough to give the sparkling midgrade.

"Used the energon from my lines," Jazz answered without a pause and grinned as Prowl stiffened.

No, scratch that. The fool _was_ that reckless. Even more so then he thought.

Prowl shook his head, forcing his mouth to shut and to not enter a lecture on just how dangerous that maneuver was. He went to the trash dispenser and threw out the remains of his pillow, nodding in satisfaction at the room. Then, Prowl pressed a button on the wall and a cleaning drone emerged, starting to polish the floor.

Jazz asked himself how such a neat mech hadn't hauled him to the wash rack yet, he probably looked like scrap.

It was only then that the spy looked down at himself and noted the small repairs that had been done on his frame. His leakages had been sealed off, and there were no longer sparking wires dangling from here and there. Even the dent on his helm had been patched up.

"You fixed me?" Jazz asked surprised. The fuel, he expected somehow. But he had assumed that Prowl would just hand him a wielder and let Jazz do the rest.

"Of course." Prowl's expression showed again that Jazz had asked a stupid question. "But I wasn't able to finish. I ran out of parts and had to restock."

"Is that why my leg looks like scrap?" Jazz raised his brow ridges and gently rocked Bluestreak. "I can barely step on the thing now!"

Prowl frowned, "You weren't supposed to move." Satisfied that the drone was working well, he knelt down to look over the joint, only to snap his head up and glare at Jazz. "You broke a support strut!" This mech was a walking disaster! How in the name of Primus had the sparkling survived for so long with him? He couldn't keep himself in one piece, let alone a child!

"Well, next time leave a note," Jazz huffed and changed Blue's position. Absently he started tickling the sparkling who tried to catch his hands. But while the sparkling smiled and grinned, it didn't laugh.

"Like you would have read it," Prowl muttered sourly. He had spent nearly a joor working around the strut, trying to save it. Scowling, he picked up the restocked med kit and took out a wielder, starting to fix what he knew.

"You still owe me an explanation," Prowl said after a few breems of working in blissful silence. "Start from the beginning, what happened to you two?"

Jazz was quiet for a while, twitching from time to time when Prowl poked a wire, before he gave the working Praxian a mirthless grin: "War happened, that's what."

"Jazz…" Prowl looked up. He was not in the mood for games. Not when he had a dangerous stranger in his very home, an Autobot in his city and a helpless sparkling between them all.

"Shouldn't you be on work?" Jazz suddenly asked. "I'm pretty certain the absence of a Chief-Enforcer will be noticed."

"I took the next few orns off." Prowl explained shortly. "Now, how in the world did _you_ end up with a sparkling?"

Jazz wondered how to spin the story so that Prowl would help them further. But then, he already knew that Jazz was an Autobot, worse part of Special Operations and that Bluestreak was an innocent in every definition of the word. His only ally was this Enforcer, he knew Praxian laws and culture, he would also probably know how to best proceed if he had all facts. And at least it was obvious that he wanted to help Blue. So, truth it was. Primus save him.

"His creators…" Jazz wondered how to start this. "Both of them were brilliant Praxians – Darksky was Head of Security, while Asher ran Ops in the base I was stationed."

Prowl nodded. While he hadn't expected such high positions of Bluestreak's creators, he couldn't say that this was surprising information. "A dangerous decision to have a sparkling in such unstable times."

"Yeah…" The spy shrugged. "To be honest, I have no idea how that happened. We didn't even know they were bonded. They were pretty private mechs, y'know?"

"I think I can relate," Prowl murmured.

"This shouldn't have happened." Jazz's voice was very quiet. Telling was difficult. Too difficult. Good thing he wanted to tell the truth anyway. A port opened at his wrist and he looked at Prowl expectantly. "Well, ya want answers? This is the easiest way."

Prowl stared at the offered port in disbelief and blatant mistrust, but Jazz waved his concerns away. "Oh, c'mon mech. If I wanted to hurt ya, I would do it after you fix me up, not now."

"Someone should teach you how to tame that glossa of yours. It's going to get you killed one orn." Prowl shook his head. "And just because that's the easiest way, doesn't mean you or I should take it."

"Asher used to say that a lot." Jazz smiled in longing, watching as Blue tried to catch the saboteur's fingers in vain. "But I think I'll take my chances."

"Asher? Bluestreak's sire?" asked Prowl interested.

"Yeah. Come on, plug in and you'll see him. I warn ya, it's not a happy ending."

Prowl snorted. "I'm not stupid. In fact, I'm reasonably sure that you've got at least training as a hacker, if you're not even an expert. So, no." He concentrated on the wielder. "You can just tell me. After all, I'll take surely more than the next joor to get you properly repaired."

Jazz closed his ports and sighed. "Showing you, would've made it easier," he repeated. "Less painful." Bluestreak had used his momentous distraction and had caught a finger. With little hands he clutched the big finger and tried to stuff it into his mouth.

Prowl hummed softly. "Just start from the beginning."

The visor became darker. "Well, I guess the beginning was a patrol, you know? Just a simple every orn patrol like hundreds before." Jazz gulped. "It was my shift and my patrol. But I didn't want to go. A friend of mine, Blaster, had just brought me the new music sticks from Tyger Pax and I wanted to listen to them. So, I asked the first mech I met and who still owned me a favor - Darksky."

Jazz could still picture the dark mech's reluctance. He was just walking down the corridor, drinking a cube when Jazz had walked up to him. Primus… he was carrying that time.

Prowl said nothing, but the guilt on Jazz's face was so obvious and painful, that he had to deliberately look away. The grief felt too private.

"Darksky agreed and did the patrol. But he never came back. By pure chance he was ambushed and kidnapped. We expected a ransom, but none ever came... an orn later Asher called us all together, said that Darksky's abduction was a huge security risk and that we've had to bring him back. I agreed, stood by him, of course I did. It was my fault... yet, I never suspected the bond."

"They hid it well then," said Prowl neutrally.

"That they did. We scourged the land and soon discovered rumors about an important Autobot prisoner. We followed those whispers and well, attacked the base. Blew half of it, then Asher and I entered the prison cells..." Jazz shuddered. "I knew that it was bad. Torture always is, you know, but Darksky... he..." He pressed the little sparkling closer as the pain morphed into hot anger.

"Calm," said Prowl and projected his own field, full of support. It wouldn't be good to upset the sparkling who was happily sucking away on the finger. "Darksky was what?"

"Desperate. I've never seen a mech more desperate then he, when it wasn't about their own spark. But all that he wanted was to save little Blue here. And he was in the middle of separating... I can only guess that the timing was far too early." Another wave of guilt and self-hate emerged. It was his fault, no one else's.

Prowl frowned. That sounded very dangerous. He looked at the sparkling, who was acting strange when he thought about it. But was it sick? Had it been really premature? And if yes, had his spark suffered for it?

"Asher had a frame with him and they managed to save the little one. But... I guess Darksky was too injured and Asher knew that. They both knew that they wouldn't be able to escape. Not together."

Prowl could guess the rest. "So they gave you the sparkling."

"Yeah. Said they trusted me... _Me_!" Jazz laughed, but it came out more as a choke. "How's that for a chance?" Bluestreak looked up startled. Immediately the Autobot calmed is field forcefully.

Quite insane, those two creators. But then, they had joined the Autobots, bonded, created a sparkling in the middle of a war and had been tortured as well. Some creators should just be slapped for what risks they put their own offspring into.

"And then you brought him to Praxus," Prowl said instead, nothing even hinting at his true feelings. "Why?"

"They said that I should bring Blue to Praxus." Jazz sighed deeply. "We all had to flee, didn't know where else to go with him. I can't risk making contact with the Autobots, Prowl. They aren't really sparkling friendly if you get my drift and there is a good chance they would demand that I drop Bluestreak at some refugee camp. I've made far too many slagging mistakes these last few orns. I'm not adding more to the pile."

Of course. Slagging irresponsible dead creators. "I see."

Suddenly, Jazz pulled his leg away. He wasn't looking at Prowl. "Can we finish this later? I'm tired. Bluestreak probably too."

The Enforcer watched him for a few moments, seeing how the emotions wrecked a havoc in Jazz's face but the mech's field remained neutral, almost cold. The sparkling whimpered, feeling in the field that his caretaker was not alright and Prowl felt a wave of pity hit him. Especially when Jazz looked so surprised at the whimper and he understood. This was the first sound the sparkling had made.

A whimper.

Primus. Prowl stood up and offered his arm.

"Let me help you to the berth."


	5. Dreams vs Reality

It was strange to be on vacation. Prowl was pretty sure that Charger, his second, had a minor crash when he had informed him of his decision. The following hesitant questions had included such wonderful moments like _"But you are coming back, right? I mean, you're not sick... like permanently sick? Or worse?"_ Asking if Prowl had understood that vacation meant no work at all, not even traffic control, had been less than subtle as well. Maybe, he should make Charger retake his interrogation course.

On the plus side, Prowl was now on holiday and had time. Much time to do all the things he had wanted to do in the last couple of hundred vorns.

On the negative side, his list of things to do reached the astounding number of one: Reading the new tactician manual files released by the military academy of Iacon. Not only was it nice to brush up on all the tactical code lines and simulations, but it also included an intriguing section on chasing and cornering criminals in a city area. Something he very much intended to put in use.

The sudden idea of testing it on his current guest was disregarded almost immediately.

As Jazz recovered through recharging far longer than normal (taking the couch when Prowl recharged, but else on the berth, because the Enforcer insisted), Prowl read and occasionally played with the sparkling, the apartment was nearly silent. It was a little awkward with the sparkling, but Prowl quickly got the hang of it and soon it came natural to look after the little bitlet. At first the silence was peaceful, but it was only disrupted by Jazz and never by the sparkling.

Prowl couldn't help but worry about that. No place with a sparkling should be called silent in his experience. They were meant to cry and scream and laugh and fight for attention any way possible. But this little one never did anything of this. The only sound he had made was that spark-breaking whimper when Jazz had lost control of his field.

Maybe the little one had suffered more than Prowl had previously thought? With that history even heavy medical complications wouldn't be a surprise. But Bluestreak seems to be recovering slowly if being more and more playful counted and his fascination with Prowl's wings remained.

Never seemed the sparkling more content then when Prowl was reading and Bluestreak could chew on the wing edge of the Praxian, happy to bask in the steady, peaceful and affectionate field the Enforcer was projecting naturally.

But every few joors whimpers would destroy the peace. The first had been nearly inaudible, but by now Prowl waited for them and when they came he couldn't possibly ignore them.

As they sounded again, Prowl put his files away with a deep sigh and turned slightly around to look at the sparkling. As expected, Bluestreak had fallen in recharge where he had liad, wing edge still in front of his mouth, hands loosely gripping it. Barely a few klicks in recharge and already the sparkling was trembling and softly whimpering.

Prowl didn't need to be a genius to see the trauma. Yet, he felt helpless. Carefully, he took Bluestreak in his servos and carried him to the huge pillow (a new green one, the one Jazz had ripped was sadly unsalvageable) which the sparkling by now loved enough that next to Prowl's wings and Jazz's arms, it was the little one's favorite place. It certainly made recharging for Bluestreak's wings a more comfortable affair. Yet, as Prowl put him in the middle of the pillow, the whimpers grew louder and Prowl forced himself to keep his field steady and to not let the pity he felt bled through it.

He kept his servos on Bluestreak's helmet to give him a bit more physical contact, but not daring to wake him. Bluestreak needed the recharge, few and interrupted as it was.

Then, the soft whimpers were joined by moans that did not belong to the little one.

With a last glance at the suffering sparkling, Prowl rose from his kneeling position and turned back to the door to his room, behind which his second guest was also gripped in a nightmare. These were of a far more violent variant though, with the occasional attack at invisible dangers. Behind him, still engulfed inside his extended field, the sparkling slowly calmed, dropping deeper into recharge from pure exhaustion.

His other guest didn't have that luxury however, and seemed to fight the memory dumps with all he had.

For the ninth time, Prowl stood there, resting a hand on the door-frame, and just listened, unsure if his help was even welcomed.

* * *

_His head hit the wall hard. Gasping, he struggled in his restraints to the point where he dented his own metal. A whimper escaped as more pain rocked his body, electricity surging and scarring his insides._

_Suddenly, the agony stopped and he slumped, but his vision was only darkness. His spark raced as something cold and sharp was gently pressed against his chest._

_"Oh, this is so much fun," a voice purred and the blade pressed harder, cutting into the metal, but then in the last moment it was pulled away. He received a hard blow to the helm and sagged in the chains._

_"Selfish piece of scrap," a different voice hissed in his audio as a hand found its way around his neck, gripping hard. His intakes hitched as core temperature rose to dangerous levels._

_Whatever had obscured his vision was removed. It took a couple of klicks to focus, but then he saw through his cracked optics the faces of his tormentors for the first time. Something inside his chest broke with a howl._

_"Please..." A plead, but not sure for what._

_"You know this is your fault."_

_"It should have been you."_

_A strangled sob reach his throat, but then he heard humming of a powerful weapon, pointed at his spark. Blind fear erased every other thought and he only wanted to run, run, run._

_"You deserve worse."_

_The weapon fired._

Jazz shot up from recharge, panting in pain but where exactly it was coming from he wasn't sure. He just knew that everywhere _hurt_. The spy clutched his helm to stop the racing processor ache and realized that his vents were stalling, causing his systems to overheat. Why were they stalling? _Hands!_ There were hands on his throat! He had to get away -

Jazz shakily stood up, staggered as his injured leg wasn't able to hold him up and fell to the floor in an undignified heap. Everything hurt, everything was _wrong_.

He couldn't breathe, someone was still clutching his neck.

The spy must have made some sort of a noise, because the door to the berth room opened and his host entered, only to stop at the scene before him.

"Jazz?" Prowl asked and rushed to help the fallen mech, but the spy just hissed at him, ready to attack:

"Don't touch me!"

The Praxian froze, uncertain how to proceed and watched as the mech struggled to take a breath. He could feel the heat radiating from the Autobot all across the room.

Jazz curled his hands over his chest, unable to resist absorbing the calm field against his very unstable one. It was like an anchor back to reality...

After making sure Bluestreak was well one more time, Prowl hurried back to the mech on the ground. Hands weakly tried to push him away. Touching his plating, the Chief-Enforcer felt how hot it was - the armor was practically boiling.

"Jazz, you're overheating." Prowl hastily stood up, supporting the mech. "Turn on your vents!"

The spy just shook his helm, not really comprehending the order and how to execute it. "I'm sorry! I- I d-didn't mean-" Jazz chocked, delirious, "I'm so sorry Asher...Darksky..."

This wasn't good and the plating under his hands just kept on getting hotter. As fast as possible, Prowl stirred them to his wash racks, but Jazz kept stumbling and apologizing to dead mechs. Gritting his denta, knowing very well that time was of essence here, Prowl finally carried Jazz in his hands into the next room despite the feeble protests.

Resolutely he put Jazz inside the stall, were the mech immediately began to sag to the ground, but he caught and pinned him against the wall. One arm occupied with the sick Autobot, and with himself standing under the stall as well, Prowl turned the water as cold as it could go.

They both gasped at the same time, when the water hit them. It was as if ice was engulfing his plating, it wasn't pleasant, it hurt. And Jazz in his arms couldn't agree more.

As soon as the water touched his plating, it turned into steam. The spy fought and tried to pull away, but Prowl held him in place with the sheer power of his bigger frame and the fact that he was in perfect health and not with a destroyed leg joint and a freezing processor. Yet. His own core temperature was dropping drastically to the point where warnings started appearing on his HUD. Prowl ignored them completely in favor of concentrating on the mech in front of him. The good news was that his last resort was helping and that the mech's plating slowly cooled...

It was around ten breems later that Jazz onlined his optics with bright awareness. Before him was black and white armor, front plating nearly intimately near. And an arm, which was attached to the hand pressing against his breast plate so much, that the was unable to move between it and the cool wall at his back. Feeling the rising of battle protocols screaming 'trapped, fight, escape', Jazz looked a bit up and started.

"Prowl," he whispered as he recognized the nearly lifeless face. Left from him, the Enforcer was bracing himself with his remaining arm against the wall. That arm was trembling, and as he looked back to the dim optics above him, he realized that the Enforcer was freezing. His battle protocols changed their tone abruptly from 'fight' to 'fight and protect', but he nearly didn't notice.

Instead Jazz hastily searched for the tap to turn the water off and found it with a hand, which was involuntarily shaking as well. The abrupt disappearance of the cold water rattled his systems, and let Prowl's optics brighten up for a moment to Jazz's relief.

Then, he heard the quiet, barely audible clatter of armor and knew that the Enforcer was still far from alright.

"Prowl?" he tried to get the Enforcer's attention.

The Praxian who had held him so far, nodded, then his arm caved in and he slumped against Jazz who automatically slid his arms around him. But thanks to his injury, he only managed to break the fall and both of them crashed against the second wall at the side.

"Primus! Mech!" Jazz exclaimed. "What the frag were you thinking?!" The Enforcer was now helplessly shivering against him.

"You're ... conscious again," Prowl said, static hinting at serious processing problems.

Jazz didn't hesitate an astro-second longer. He shoved Prowl outside the stall; thankfully the mech managed to stand by himself as long as he could hold on to something and hurriedly looked for a towel. Fortunately, Prowl liked everything organized and he found several huge and fluffy ones very fast. Also, they all were light yellow, purple, green or the same light gold that Prowl's optics now had.

"Had to help you," explained Prowl quietly, as a towel was hung around his shoulders and Jazz began to dry him of, rubbing very hard for extra friction.

Jazz flinched guiltily. "It was just a nightmare, I would've been fine."

"No," said Prowl, then was quiet and just let Jazz do his job, which wasn't as easy as usual as he had to be careful not to agitate his injuries, but the agile Autobot managed. The spy had begun with the non-sensitive plating that was dried seemingly too fast. The breast plates and bumpers were already sensitive, but when he moved on to the wings Prowl bowed forward and hid his head in his hands. Their surface was smooth and Jazz could feel them heating, but the Praxian didn't tell him to stop, so he didn't.

Then Jazz moved to the legs and pedes, with the wheels and turbines often very sensitive places, not to mention what some thought about kneeling mechs, though Prowl didn't seem to react to that as well. Then, he dried very softly with the biggest and fluffiest towel he could find the helmet with its fine audios and the chevron, which was a single giant sensor node all on its own. Jazz didn't let himself ask what such intimate touches meant in Praxian culture. Here and now, he was just helping. Nothing more.

For a brief moment, something happened.

Jazz's rubbing stopped as Prowl lifted his helm, cupped gently between the spy's servos and the soft material. His optics were a dimmer shade of gold and he just _looked_ at Jazz with an expression Jazz had never seen before on any mech. They just stared at each other for a long, intense moment. Jazz could've sworn he tasted electricity.

No one could be certain who broke the tension, but both mechs abruptly cleared their vents, looking away from each other, breaking contact.

When Jazz was finished and tossed the towels into the used heap, Prowl broke the awkward silence again: "Cybertronians don't get just nightmares. They don't overheat from them." The Enforcer said randomly.

He already nearly sounded normal again, but Jazz wasn't fooled. His plating was still far too cool and his voice's tone a touch too soft. "Sure we do," Jazz said and helped Prowl to his feet, leading him out of the wash racks. "Most mechs have them."

"No, they do not..." argued Prowl quietly, but didn't resist as he was pushed down on the couch. "It's a sign of traumatic events and not enough time to process them."

Jazz made a face, "Big woop." He doubted that very much and limped to the kitchen, after giving the green pillow with the sparkling on it a fast glance. But for once Bluestreak seemed to be peacefully recharging. Something eased inside Jazz and his features softened.

"Maybe for a few," Jazz said again. "But y'know, all of my Autobot friends had them and my friends before the army too." When he returned into the living room, he pushed a hot energon cube into Prowl's servos that were still shaking from the cold. "And now, drink this."

Prowl did, but winced as it burned his intakes. He wondered where Jazz came from that the environment had obviously traumatized everyone living in it. Kaon? Tarn? Some unnamed and forgotten slum? There were so many out there, scattered across Cybertron. His wings lowered, as he had the code deep desire to help all those unfortunate sparks, but realistically knew he never could. Maybe his creators had been right and he was a medic at spark. But then not everyone who wants to help had to become a medic. He took another sip and burned himself again.

Jazz, who had left again, came back more hopping than walking, with no less than three blankets and put them on Prowl. "Here!" he said with a grin. "We'll get you warm very fast again!"

Prowl, aware that he was now a pile of yellow colorful blankets and his own head, scowled. "Is it really necessary to put every blanket I own on me?"

"Yep."

Prowl sighed and gave up. Then, he gave him a playful look and suddenly reached for Jazz's hand, pulling him. The spy, unstable as he was on his ruined leg, easily fell with a yelp on the couch next to Prowl.

Prowl smirked in victory at him as Jazz grumbled about crazy-aft Enforcers and sipped from his cube. Once Jazz was sitting comfortably next to him, Prowl offered his cube to the spy's surprise. Prowl raised his optic ridges at Jazz's look and waited patiently for the Autobot to take it.

Finally, Jazz reached for the cube and brought it to his lips, taking a sip and felt Prowl move under the enormous pile of blankets he had covered him with, arranging them so that part of the blankets fell on Jazz as well. He squirmed under all the coziness, unfamiliar with such sensations and returned the cube to Prowl, leaning back on the couch.

The cold was still sapping Prowl's strength and, though he wouldn't admit it, it was kind of nice to be cared for. Prowl took another sip, felt the warmth in his tanks and that of the mech next to him, and relaxed.

"That was pretty stupid of you, y'know," said Jazz after a while, his voice muffled by the blankets as only a pair of optics and his sensor horns were visible, the rest of his body curled under them. "A bit longer and your coolant would've frozen."

Prowl startled. Not exactly because Jazz spoke, but the fact that the Autobot possessed enough medical knowledge to understand what exactly the cold temperature had done to Prowl's body. "I would've left before it had become dangerous."

Jazz snorted. "Prowler, sorry to burst your bubble, but you nearly couldn't stand anymore!"

"It's Prowl. And as you said - nearly."

"Yeah, you could've just left me in the stall, or taken me out after a few breems, so what were you thinking?!" The worry in the voice was thick and Jazz pulled the blanket over his helm, hiding his face from view. It was startling.

Prowl had no answer to that. Not a logical, rational one, at least. Instead, he reached and lifted the blanket away, searching Jazz's face, "I didn't want to leave you alone," Prowl finally said, looking at the optics that were averting his gaze. "Probably the basic medic protocols I got from my creators."

"Right," said Jazz slightly disbelieving. "Just take care of yourself the next time, all right?" The _'I need you - We need you'_ went unspoken.

Prowl heard it anyway, and somehow it gave him more warmth than the rubbing, the blanket pile and the hot cube in his hands. He knew it was a dangerous feeling, as it clouded his judgment, but right now, at this precise moment, he found himself no longer really caring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for the delay! RL is just not giving us a break. We have important exams in January so.... yeah. Stress XD Hope you liked the chapter!


	6. Let's do some cleaning - or why Prowl's vacation just doesn't end.

When Prowl had started his vacation thanks to his unusual guests, he somehow had been convinced that it would only be a few orns and that afterwards everything would be normal again. As a result, he had only taken one decaorn off, and this time frame was now rapidly coming to an end.

During the time Jazz had recharged (something the Autobot's frame had sorely needed) Prowl had watched and cared for the sparkling, even played with him. It had been easy. Bluestreak never complained, never screamed... but he knew better than to think that these were good signs.

When Jazz had been awake, Prowl had more often than not left the apartment and gone to different places in the city, hoping to find a good solution. In the beginning he had thought it would be easy, surely Jazz wasn't the first Autobot seeking asylum, surely Bluestreak wasn't the first orphan.

They weren't.

Sadly, that was were the problems began.

The first thing he did was to read through the immigration laws of Praxus. Until a few hundred vorns ago they had been quiet open and friendly. Now? Now you only became a Praxian in two ways - you were born inside the city or you bonded to an upstanding citizen. It followed four pages of definition of the glyph "upstanding". Prowl read it twice and managed to summarize it into two words: "proven loyal".

Jazz had no chance to be accepted through the usual channels.

Not that Prowl was really surprised. An Autobot, worse, a loyal Autobot who had confessed to be part of Special Operation of all things? Right. If he thought about this logically, there was a greater possibility that Jazz was a spy and saboteur than anything else. Just, of course, that no operative of any kind would be that worried about a sparkling that he destroyed his own mobility, which he would need for any job. He wasn't an emotional or trustful mech, really, but Jazz... seemed truthful.

Prowl had still asked himself more than once if Jazz lied. It all always came down to the traitorous question - what if he didn't lie? Would Prowl forgive himself for not trying to help?

No, no he wouldn't.

And so, he went out on the second orn too, trying to find a way that Bluestreak would be acknowledged as a Praxian. He was of Praxian design, creation of two Praxians, surely... but there he hit the second problem:

Praxians joining the Autobot (or Decepticon in rarer cases) army weren't Praxians as long as they were part of said army.

Bluestreak was an Autobot by Praxian law. And as such, the Autobots were responsible.

That was the moment Prowl wondered what the Autobots would do with an orphan.

Orn three, he was in the library and searched for articles and reports on Autobots and sparklings and families. What he found, didn't make him happy. At all.

Autobots cared for their own, that was true, but they also needed soldiers. As a result, sparklings were upgraded to adults as fast as possible and trained from small on to be soldiers. He shuddered. Cybertronians had no childhood as such, more a time of development for emotional subroutines, intelligence, control and all those things. Bluestreak was already heavily damaged and would probably need a much longer childhood than usual. Not a shorter, violent one.

Beside that, Bluestreak would have no creators and that Jazz would probably not be allowed to care for the little one as he was a needed operative, and the sparkling just a liability. Bluestreak would be alone in a sparkling center with nurse bots. If there even _were_ nursing mechs. Had an army even had those?

No, Bluestreak couldn't go back and as a result, Jazz would stay too as long as Prowl didn't want to go physical on that matter.

The following orns he tried to find a way for them to stay in Praxus. He searched for guest rights (only four decaorns, and only after screening), family rights (bonding only, or adoption in some rare cases) and other ways. He began to read through cases, and tried to find a loophole.

There was none.

Jazz and Bluestreak were Autobots and as such not welcomed.

With heavy steps he walked home, instead of driving and wondered what to do now. Prowl couldn't throw them out, as he knew very well that they had no where else to go. And really, they deserved better than some nameless death on the streets through starvation.

But Prowl also couldn't send them back. Jazz was already obviously damaged from his time as a soldier (those nightmares were the worst he had ever seen, and every night he wanted to drag Jazz to a psychologist, because this was not healthy), and Bluestreak was traumatized by... well everything he had experienced before coming to Praxus. He was even in a more dearer state for medical help of any kind.

Both were in no condition to join a bloody, insane war.

What remained?

He could keep them in his apartment, but for how long? The apartment was meant for one mech only, not for a small family.

Reaching his door, he heard Jazz's soft, true laughter behind it. Strangely, it went straight to his spark and Prowl suddenly knew that he would keep them as long as needed. There was no other choice.

Somewhere along the way he had really started caring. With a sigh, he sent a form to his deputy, Charger and requested an extension of his vacation.

 _::Chief,::_ came the very quick answer back. _::You can really tell us if something is not alright...::_

 _::Everything is alright,::_ Prowl said, hearing that soft laughter again and wondering if he was lying or not. He should feel sad or angry that he had failed to find a way that Jazz and Bluestreak were safe. Instead, the laughter made him feel warm. _::I'm perfectly fine and just following up a research.::_

_::A research? Chief, this is called vacation, not educational training!::_

_::I'm aware of that, Charger,::_ said Prowl amused. _::But believe me, it's necessary. Is the extension of my vacation a problem?::_

 _::No, of course not, sir. We just miss our workaholic Chief who seemingly did all the paperwork for us.::_ Charger sighed dramatically. _::But the precinct is fine, so far nothing has burnt down besides a few desks and -::_

 _::The desks have_ what _?::_ asked Prowl in a voice that said clearly 'speak now or it's going to be very painful for you'.

_::... we might have captured an arsonist with a firebomb in his subspace, which he might activated inside the office.::_

Prowl sighed and yet couldn't help a smile. Just another normal orn at work. _::Any injuries?::_

_::No.::_

_::Good work then, Charger.::_ Prowl looked at the apartment where he now heard again laughter and something like water. _::I have to go. Call me, if anything dire happens.::_

_::Of course, sir. Always.::_

He disconnected and opened the door to his home.

Against his expectations Jazz and Bluestreak were neither at ground with the huge green pillow, nor on the couch. The kitchen was also empty. That left only the berthroom and the bath, he was already turning to the first one when he heard water and an amused "Blue!". Bathroom then.

The bathroom wasn't very big, designed for one mech only. As such it only had the shower under which he had forced Jazz only a few orns ago, the towel shelf and not much else except for that small mirror. Inside the shower sat Jazz on the ground with the shower head in hand and an animated sparkling between his legs. Coming closer he saw that it was leaning against Jazz uninjured right leg, so that it wouldn't fall down and waving it's little hands at the thin water jet in front of it.

"It likes water?" announced Prowl his presence.

Startled, Jazz looked up and then nodded. "Very much. Blue tries to drink it, catch it, splash it, you name it."

Having heard Prowl, Blue now tried to look around, and Jazz gently helped. By now Prowl was standing directly at the shower entrance and the sparkling gave him a bright smile, obviously happy. Prowl couldn't help but return that gentle smile back. It was good to see the bitlet reacting.

"Many sparklings like water," agreed Prowl. "And they also like sticky things. It's a common complaint that the first manipulative act of a sparkling is to recognize the connection and to deliberately play with sticky, colourful and just messy things."

"Because sparklings are sneaky little critters!" Jazz exclaimed, tickling Blue a little, "But I don't think we have to worry about that here." A sharp smirk. "Yer apartment's so clean it's practically sterile."

Prowl frowned. He liked his apartment clean, but he didn't have the feeling that Jazz meant it as a compliment.

"Mech, it's not an insult," Jazz added seeing Prowl's look. Even though he had relaxed around the mech over the last decaorn, all instincts screamed at him that it was not wise to criticize the mech you depend on. "Just an observation, that's all. Cuz there's 'clean' and then we have 'Prowl-clean' to the list. Which isn't bad!"

The Chief-Enforcer nodded. "I like how it is," he said and looked at the sparkling. If they stayed the next decaorn too - and the probability was high - then the sparkling would make mess and get dirty as well as a result. Which meant that he had to be cleaned. But while Jazz and Bluestreak seemed to have fun in the shower, Prowl saw the slippery tiles, the damaged leg, how the towels were at the other end of the bath room and how easily the sparkling fell backwards and could hurt his little wings. Also, the spray was far too soft to really clean the sparkling and that a stronger one would hurt him.

This was unacceptable. He liked clean things and if Jazz and the sparkling stayed, they needed to be able to get clean safely too.

Good thing he had extended his vacation. At least now he knew where he would go tomorrow.

0000

Jazz was sitting on a chair as he stared at the strange blue thing that was being filled with warm solvent water. Bluestreak in his lap was looking at it just as curiously.

"What is that?" Jazz finally asked. He had never seen such a thing before. Was it for painting? He hadn't seen any paintings in Prowl's apartment (if at all) though, plus why was it in the kitchen?

Prowl, dare he say it, snorted through his vents.

"You must be joking," the Chief Enforcer said, not believing. "Also, can you raise the thermostat's settings?" Prowl asked as he looked up at Jazz. "I want to warm up the room first."

Jazz gave him a questioning look, rocking Blue in his lap. Still, the spy stood up and limped his way to the control panel on the wall. Soon, the soft whirl of vents filled the room as warm air started to blow through the rooms. Jazz refused to admit that it made him feel rather cozy, with all the warmth surrounding him, Bluestreak close to his spark...

"Alright, hand me the sparkling."

Those words however snapped Jazz out of his light doze.

"What? Why?" He watched as Prowl secured the... thing he had filled with hot solvent water. "You still haven't told me what that is!"

Prowl raised an optic ridge. "You seriously mean you don't remember this from sparklinghood?"

"I didn't have one, okay?" Jazz said, getting annoyed. "The closest thing I had to a toy was a doll I made out of a bunch of rags, geez."

Again, Prowl hid how that little bit of information made him quite uncomfortable. "First, it's not a toy. And second, it's a sparkling-bathtub. Designed for creators to wash their creations."

Prowl was surprised by the horrified look Jazz gave him: "Are you trying to drоwn Blue?!"

Jazz couldn't help it. How could Praxian creators wash their sparklings in that? It was round and deep and filled with solvent. It looked perfect for an excited sparkling to drown in. What was Prowl thinking?

"Jazz..." Prowl said exasperated. "This is a Praxian sparkling - you need this to wash him effectively, safely and properly without hurting his wings."

"And to effectively drown him!" Jazz insisted from his seat, clutching the squirming Bluestreak close to his chest. He glanced at the bathtub, then back at Prowl who hadn't moved yet. But this was the first time Jazz defied him. The first time he didn't nod and say 'yes' and apologized. What would Prowl do? Hit him? Throw them out? Hit Bluestreak? Too late he realized that again his battle controls had overtaken and made him even more unreasonable. But then Prowl really could turn out like some other mechs... "What if you drop him? That thing does not look safe!"

As if speaking to a youngling, Prowl calmly pointed at the rubber inserts. "See this? You can't drown a sparkling in this. They're designed that even new creators can clean their sparkling safely."

Jazz huffed in mistrust, looking at the unknown object with the same intensity he would look at a potential bomb. A part of him far down was thanking Primus that Prowl wasn't reacting aggressive. It would end ugly. "Well, I've never had one so I don't see the point in Blue needing one too. I could've kept washing him under the shower stall like I was doing!"

"It's sad that you never had one." Prowl looked a bit uncomfortable before adding: "And when he falls down as he does every five astroseconds and hurts his wings while you're busy with the towels? What then? I assure you, it's safe. I had one and loved it."

"I'm holding Blue while getting the towels," Jazz reasoned, barely keeping from revving the engine in a clear threat statement. But despite that he had the feeling that he was loosing this fight quickly. Prowl seemed _right_.

"Jazz, why are you so worried over such little things?" Prowl asked, trying to keep his own feelings under control. He had meant this as a gift, not as a murder instrument!

"Because I've _screwed up_ his life so bad I should get a damn prize for orchestrating such a disaster, and he wasn't even _created yet!_ " Jazz exclaimed. "If I'm gonna do this, I'll be doing it right. And that doesn't include drowning the sparkling while I'm at it."

"Perhaps if I just show you-"

"No."

"Don't be unreasonable Jazz-"

"No!" This time his engine did do a little rev, but Prowl seemed not to realize its significance.

A deep sigh. "Trust me on this, will you? You've trusted me so far, why stop now over something so minor?"

"Because you need to make a mistake only once for it to be too late," Jazz said, voice rife with bitter experience and howling protocols. To control himself and the situation, he turned the other way, shielding little Blue from the Chief-Enforcer. Sure, now he had his unprotected back towards the Enforcer, but Prowl was not armed and he could always escape forward. He shuttered his optic for a moment and touched his battle protocols. There was no danger. Prowl hadn't hit them yet, and Jazz doubted by now that he would. That knowledge... was a needed relief so deep, that it even filtered into his carefully controlled field, making Bluestreak look at him in confusion.

Prowl stared at Jazz who was completely unreasonable. How could this reckless, irresponsible daredevil be afraid of a sparkling-bathtub of all things?! He forced himself to calm and think of it logically. Which was quite difficult.

Jazz came from an extremely poor background from what Prowl could gather through the small slips of personal information Jazz had given, and this explained why he had never seen a sparkling bathtub before. Had he even understood how it really worked? Prowl looked at the blue, innocent bathtub and had to admit that it looked quite deep. Which was intended so that the sparkling couldn't fall out or in any other direction.

Add to that the self blame, past trauma and you had an irrational reaction.

Great. Analysis finished. And now?

"Jazz..." He stepped around them, until he stood in front of them. He crouched so he was level with them and placed a hand on the sparkling's helm when it turned to look at him with big optics. Bluestreak was far too young to understand what was happening, but had gotten uneasy at Jazz's aggressive reaction anyway. When he felt Prowl's hand and field, he relaxed, and little grey wings rose higher. Prowl gave him one of his rare smiles, then concentrated on the scared Autobot: "Trust me when I say that I won't let any harm come to Bluestreak as long as I can help it."

Jazz was staring down at the white hand caressing the sparkling's helmet in a clear sign of trust. The spy knew he was being unfair and probably looked stupid, but he had messed up so bad already... Bluestreak didn't deserve him as his caretaker. He deserved someone like Prowl. A responsible mech who hasn't ruined his life. Who knew what a sparkling needed, even if the contraptions looked strange and dangerous and nothing like anything he had ever seen. Who doesn't have battle protocols installed that made him aggressive beyond reason.

Slowly, Jazz nodded, forcing his own fears down.

"We can do this. Carefully," he added.

Prowl nodded, and Jazz wondered for the hundred time if the Praxian knew that his life depended on Blue's health - intentional injury or not.

"Always," Prowl said and lifted the excited sparkling in his arms. Bluestreak laid on his stomach and the doorwings on his back were fluttering up and down - a level of movement he had reached only three orns ago. Jazz followed them nervously as they went to the little bath tub.

"The solvent's temp is alright?" Jazz dipped a digit inside to taste it - just in case. Not only for temperature, but also for poison. It was habit.

"Yes," Prowl said and slowly dipped Bluestreak inside, observing the sparkling for any sign of distress. The little one made a little noise in surprise. It was really just a klick-klick. But it was enough to recognize it as the second sound beside the whimper Blue had ever done. Prowl's field flooded with approval, and lowered the sparkling a bit deeper.

Klick-Klick. Its optics brightened and it started to move his hands and pedes to feel and splash the solvent around.

At the side, Jazz's field full of happiness joined.

"He likes it..." Jazz was astonished. "You like that lil' Blue?" And dipped his hand into the solvent to carress the sparkling's belly.

Klick-Klick. And a tiny hand hit the water and made a (in comparison) huge splash. Prowl's front was suddenly wet. Prowl didn't even react, and only lowered the sparkling further, until he was laying completely inside the tub.

"I would say, he does," Prowl commented as Blue did another splash.

Klick-Klick.

Jazz smiled softly, relaxing. "Yeah." He looked at Prowl, then back: "Are those klicks normal?"

"Yes," Prowl took a hand out of the solvent to get a white soap, and started to try to clean the sparkling. Which was easier said than done, as Bluestreak started trashing as much as he could, klicking at every splash in delight. "Sparklings usually start klicking the moment they're created. It's actually a good sign that he started now. I had already feared that he might be mute."

"Mute?" Jazz asked alarmed, then calmed. "So, this is really good," he said pointing at the trashing, splashing, klicking sparkling.

"Very."

Jazz nodded and watched him for a bit more. Then he asked: "Can I try to clean him too?"

Prowl looked up in surprise, then nodded. "Sure, just come nearer. Next to me, and hold his head..."

The rest of the afternoon was filled with water, a happy Bluestreak and two adults mechs discussing the properties of the perfect bathtub soap and toys for sparklings.


End file.
